Oblivion Episode 2 - Both Sides of the Story
by Gabriel Seraph
Summary: This story is inspired by Organization XIII. Great liberties have been taken with names, places, etc. in order to create as original a story as possible. Up to now, the exact reasons why Braig Bidos is being forced to stay in Ansem's underground lab have not been revealed. Now, learn the story of how Braig met Ansem, and why the police are now after him. AU, with some OC's.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This new installment in my ongoing _Oblivion_ story will be a flashback episode. Some unexplained details from Episode 1, "The New Kid," will be explained, but the connections will not be obvious to those who have not read Episode 1. Therefore, reading my first two stories in order is not required - although I do recommend it.

Enjoy.

Episode 2 - Both Sides of the Story

Chapter 1

Braig Bidos stopped rifling through the kitchen cabinets in his fruitless search for edibles. He was hungry, and being locked underground for five days with a very limited food supply had not helped matters at all. He would have kept going if not for the fact that his phone was ringing. So he answered it.

"Mr. Nemo? Is that you?" Braig's voice was gravelly, due to an industrial accident almost twenty years earlier.

"Braig." Ansem was short and to the point. "The police came looking for you. They had evidence."

"Well, why worry, Ansem? They'll never find me, or make any connection between you and my disappearance."

"You never know," Ansem said. "They almost undid everything with this one. Someone gave them a picture of you and me getting out of the car together...six days ago. You know what that could mean."

"Hey, relax," Braig said. "It's me they want, not you. I'm the one who has to be careful here. All you have to do is buy the police and you're golden. But for me...it'll be a miracle if they stop looking."

Braig could sense Ansem smiling to himself in his office. "I can most certainly arrange that," Ansem said.

"Thanks a lot," Braig replied.

Braig was about to hang up when Ansem spoke up again. "Wait a minute. Braig...how did you get this call? Where are you?"

"I'm sorry!" Braig cried. "I know you told me to stay in the lab, but your crazy wife hasn't gotten the food yet, and I was getting hungry."

"Just get back underground," Ansem grumbled. "Don't come out again until I say it's safe. I'm pretty sure you don't want to be caught." He hung up, leaving Braig looking at the phone with some apprehension. Hurriedly, he shut the cabinet doors, then closed his eyes. When he re-opened them, he was inside the small break-room type space next to Ansem's underground lab. _But no food. Dammit._ He kicked the chair in frustration.

* * *

-September 1977-

-Summerside, California-

Braig Bidos, age nine, gazed fearfully at the front entrance to Chapman Elementary, where his mother had just dropped him off for his first day in a new school. He walked up to the door, which was pushed open right in his face by a pair of rude bullyboys trying to make themselves look tough with big red jackets and blue jeans, like mini-James Deans.

"Aww yeah, buddy, look at the fresh meat!" yelled one, knocking Braig to the ground.

"Not much meat there, actually," said the other. "I guess we could feast on the bones, though."

Braig wriggled helplessly under the two boys' arms, until another voice, not nearly as deep as those of the bullies, rang out from the door: "Hey! Leave him alone! What'd he do to you, huh?"

The two boys backed away. "All right, wizard-nerd," said the first one. "Don't put a spell on us."

"Yeah," said his friend. "Pick on someone your own size!" They left, and the third boy - a short, bespectacled silver-blond one - walked out and offered his hand to Braig, who took it and pulled himself up.

"Sorry about that," he said. "Those guys'll pick on anyone new."

Braig sighed. "Guess every school has some of those."

"Tell me about it," said the boy, whose eyes - Braig had just noticed - were piercingly dark red. Like he was an albino or something. "Hey, whose class are you in?"

Braig looked at the card his mother had put in his pocket. "Uh...Mrs. Simon's class."

The boy smiled. "Great! That's my class too, she's one of the best teachers in the school. Come on, you're gonna have a lot more fun now the bullies are out of the way."

Braig hurried in after the boy, who stopped, turned to him, and said, "By the way, what's your name?"

"Braig. Braig Bidos."

The boy said, "You'll have to write that down for me, 'cause there's no way I can possibly spell that."

"How 'bout your name?" asked Braig.

The boy paused before answering, "Ansem Nemo."

Braig smiled and shook Ansem's hand. "A name I can actually spell. Lucky you." They walked into the building together, the glass door shutting with a surprisingly loud bang.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Braig followed Ansem down the hall to Mrs. Simon's classroom, just as the door opened and Mrs. Simon herself - a kindly middle-aged woman in a blue dress, like the Dutch-style china dolls Braig's grandma kept in her house in Solvang - invited the students in with the phrase, "_Entrez, s'il vous plait!_" All the students sat at their desks, except Braig (who obviously didn't have one yet.) Luckily, the seat next to Ansem was empty, so Mrs. Simon directed Braig to sit there, but not before she gave him a copy of each of the two textbooks he would need - the arithmetic book, and also _The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe_. Braig had never read this book before, but from the title it looked at least vaguely interesting. He remembered how the bullyboys had called Ansem a "wizard-nerd," and wondered if this was one of those books that "wizard-nerds" would like.

Ansem had been right about Mrs. Simon. She was a great teacher, always very calm and helpful towards her students. And it seemed like everyone loved her. _It's a utopia_, Braig thought, having just learned that word during the vocabulary lesson. _Bet the rest of the school isn't, though._

Unfortunately, Braig was right. As he entered the cafeteria, he realized, much to his dismay, that the bullyboys seemed to have relieved him of his lunch money. Spotting him pulling his pockets inside out in search of change that just wasn't there, Ansem gave Braig his own money.

"Are you sure about this?" Braig asked. "Don't you have to pay too?"

Ansem grinned. "Yeah, but I got enough for two people." He removed a quarter from a small change pocket hidden within his front pants pocket. "I get bullied too, they take my lunch money too, so I always keep a spare quarter, just in case."

As Braig took the offered quarter, he asked, "Why do they always go for the money?"

"They say they don't got money," said Ansem. "I think it's a lie. They just make up any excuse to bully us."

As Braig and Ansem sat down with their lunches (mac-n-cheese with tuna, which actually smelled like mac-n-cheese with tuna and not the processed junk found in today's school lunches), Braig cast his eyes around the unfamiliar sights of the Chapman Elementary cafeteria. Not that it looked much different from his old school up in the city.

His eyes looked down from the mosaic underneath the clock when his breath briefly stopped. The bullyboys were two rows ahead of him. Even more unfortunately, they turned around, and sneered at him with absolute disgust. Braig averted his eyes quickly and busied himself with eating, but he could not block out the sounds of their voices. And he definitely didn't like what he was hearing.

"Oh look, it's the homo," jeered the first one.

"I thought we took his money from him this morning," said the second.

"Ehh, the wizard-nerd probably magicked him more," hissed the first.

"Did you say he was a homo?" asked the second.

"Yeah," said the first, "'cause he's all short and skinny and stuff. Like my big brother used to be, and guess what? He's a homo too. You can always pick 'em out in a crowd."

Braig nearly choked on his macaroni. He ended up spluttering it back onto his plate, that was how shocked he was. _Oh God, not again_, he moaned in his head.

The facts were these - until just two days ago, Braig had lived up in San Francisco, which was now starting to gain its famous reputation as a gay-friendly city. Not all were happy about this, though, and it was becoming fashionable for boys to make fun of other boys by accusing them of being gay. Even though he was only a nine-year-old grade-schooler, Braig found himself a victim of this new form of teasing, but it was more than just mere joking. The boys in his old school would repeatedly beat him black-and-blue, as if they actually thought he was the real thing. Obviously, it was impossible to tell this sort of thing at that age, but the boys were driven by insane troll logic - which is just plain impossible to fight against. After two weeks of this treatment, Braig gave up on going to school, instead sitting morosely on a park bench and watching the cars go by as they headed towards downtown. Eventually, the Bidos parents decided enough was enough, and so they pulled Braig out of school, moved to the suburbs, and made it clear to the school that they were intending to sue for their son's pain and suffering.

Now, less than five hours after arriving at a new school, Braig was on track to become, once again, an unnecessary victim of the same social panic that caused him so much pain in San Francisco. _I feel like I'm bad luck or something like that,_ he thought to himself.

Ansem must have noticed Braig's sudden silence, because he turned to him and asked, "Are you okay?"

"What?" Braig asked. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine."

"You know," said Ansem, "the theater in Blancoville still has _Star Wars_ playing. Have you seen it yet?"

"No," said Braig. Having had no real friends in San Francisco, he hadn't been able to go see it with anyone, and his parents had refused to let him go see it by himself. But now-

"Would you like to go on Saturday?" Ansem asked. "My brother said he'd drive me there on the way to work."

"Really?"

"Definitely," said Ansem. "You've gotta see it, really, you do."

And so, on Saturday night, Ansem's brother, Loren, took him and Braig across Highway 17 into Blancoville, where a small number of people in early-Halloween costumes were milling around outside the theater. "Wow," said Braig. "I feel underdressed."

Ansem, who had similarly put on plain clothes, punched Braig in the shoulder. "No, they're just overdressed."

He and Braig paid for the tickets, then filed into the theater and made for the popcorn stand. Behind the counter, a blond teenager with a Chewbacca hat deftly scooped up a large amount of popcorn, then tossed it into the bucket, where it landed with ludicrous precision. "Ohhhhh! Check out this swag!" he yelled, before handing the popcorn bucket to Ansem.

As the two boys walked away, Braig and Ansem looked at each other. "Swag?" asked Braig. "Is that real slang?"

Ansem thought for a couple of seconds. "Um, no."

"Well, it's stupid, whatever it is." Braig's lips curled. "Sounds like something you say in the baddest part of the city."

"Just wait," Ansem said. "Someday soon it's gonna be the next big thing, just 'cause it's so dumb."

They stopped talking at this point, as they had just entered the theater and taken their seats.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

After the movie ended, Ansem smiled and asked, "Well? Was it everything I said and more?"

Braig had to admit, it was. "Yeah, but...did they end up beating the Empire forever in the end?"

Ansem shook his head. "No, I think George Lucas said there's gonna be a sequel, maybe in two or three years or so."

"Well, we'll still be there to see it, right?"

Ansem smiled, and put on a deep Humphrey-Bogart-like voice. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

It certainly was. Three years later, Braig and Ansem were among the first in line in Blancoville to see _The Empire Strikes Back_. In the meantime, they had bonded over all manner of shared interests, mostly in the world of sci-fi lit and rock 'n roll. Ansem also told Braig that he was very interested in joining the growing electronics business as an adult. In fact, when a substitute teacher in sixth grade asked the class what they wanted to be when they grew up, Ansem and Braig both answered, "Computer inventors." Even better, they managed to outgrow their "wizard-nerd" status to an extent, by shedding their straight-laced image in a number of elaborate practical jokes that they pulled on their classmates. Nobody could prove it, but whenever the boys' bathroom was filled up and suddenly four cherry pies dropped from the ceiling onto all their heads, everyone knew it was Ansem and Braig who did it. Or, as they became widely known, the Merry Young Pranksters. Braig very much admired Ansem's uncanny ability to rig up messy objects in the right place, and then know when the time was right to set the trap. It was like he could see the future.

And yet...Braig still found himself very much troubled, especially as his teen years approached. For starters, the two bullyboys continued to torment him (not regularly, though, so Braig had no way to plan ahead for an attack), and they still used gay slurs against him. He was convinced that they were completely wrong - after all, he'd had a small crush on a girl back in San Francisco, so didn't that make him straight? And he was starting to develop real physical attractions to girls as he left his gangly grade-school years behind for the ganglier middle-school years.

The real kicker came that night in 1980, after Braig came home from seeing _Empire_ with Ansem. He was glad that he'd learned what wet dreams were during health class just the week before, otherwise he would have been much more concerned about the situation than he was.

But there was something off about his first wet dream. It started (seemingly) normal, with Braig kissing some really hot girl (it wasn't even a girl he knew from school, just the product of his imagination), and then, halfway through, Ansem joined in, and he started kissing the girl, then, most bizarrely, Braig started kissing the back of Ansem's neck.

He found it very difficult to look at Ansem afterwards, but he soon got over it, explaining himself away by saying he was a bit depressed because his dog was sick (which was, most conveniently, true.)

However, eventually the subject came up in conversation, very uncomfortably too. It was April 1983, Ansem had just turned 15, and _Return of the Jedi_ was only a few weeks away. Ansem asked Braig, pretty much out of the blue, if he was gay.

"What?" Braig asked, completely taken aback.

"Well, no offense now," said Ansem, who by now no longer wore glasses as he had switched to contacts, "but...people have been saying things. I don't know why, but I'm always overhearing people call you a homo, and they wonder if I'm one too because you're my friend and all...now I know I'm not, but I just wanna know. To be honest, I don't care."

Braig gaped at him for a few seconds. When he finally recovered his tongue, he said, "Lemme get this straight. Pun intended. You think I'm gay, just 'cause the damn high school rumor mill is saying so?"

Ansem backed away slightly. "No, no, just...I mean, I've never seen you really interested in girls, like when we went to the dance and I managed to get a date but you didn't...I'm just wondering if maybe the rumors are true. Like I said, I don't care."

"NO!" Braig yelled, suddenly very angry. "I'm not gay! God, they've gotten to you, too! What happened to the nice wizard-nerd I met back in '77, huh? Does being a teenager make you a gullible rumor-believer, or something? Huh?"

"No," Ansem said quietly. "I don't understand why you're getting so pissed at me."

"Of course you don't," growled Braig. "You haven't spent half your life being labeled for no damn reason." Infuriated beyond belief, he turned on his heel, ignoring Ansem as he begged him to come back, and apologized for even mentioning it.

Their friendship wasn't really the same after that. If it existed at all. They didn't go see any more movies, didn't share any more sci-fi novels (or even the fanfics they had created) or rock records, and they just plain drifted apart. At their high school graduation, they sat next to each other, but didn't talk until the very end, when they each delivered a cursory "Good luck" to each other. It was several years before they were able to speak civilly again.

However, even before Ansem asked him if the rumors were true, Braig had started wondering if maybe the bullyboys, his classmates, and Ansem were right. Sort of. He did find himself attracted to different people regardless of gender. His parents had always told him that there were two sides to everything, whether they were people, objects, or metaphysical creations. Maybe this was one of the ways in which Braig was two-sided. Eventually, he came to accept his bisexuality, and his parents, surprisingly, were very accepting of his decision to come out. They didn't yell at him, tell him it was a phase, or even act like they had known all along, because that was, of course, impossible for those who didn't subscribe to insane troll logic. Once this happened, he regretted even more that he had just turned his back on his best friend over such a petty problem. So he sought him out again. Braig was delighted to learn that Ansem had continued pursuing his computerized ambitions. He'd even dropping out of college because he fancied himself the next Steve Jobs and had many wonderful ideas. Ideas which he was starting to sell at a small shop in Santa Marina, where he had begun the startup business that would eventually mushroom into the silicon-fueled NemoConTech giant.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

-November 1993-

-NemoConTech R&D Labs, Santa Marina, California-

Seven years had passed since Braig and Ansem had last seen each other at their high school graduation. Four years had passed since Braig had earned his computer science degree from SF State. A week earlier, he had joined NemoConTech, now a moderate-sized computer and electronics maker. It was Braig's idea of a revolutionary pocket-sized music player, one that would make the relatively recent invention of the CD obsolete, that landed him the job over hundreds of other, seemingly better-qualified applicants, including a few Cal Berkeley graduates.

Unfortunately, circumstances conspired to prevent Braig's prototype iPod-y device from being nearly as revolutionary - or as unprecedented - as it could have been.

On the day he got the job, the man who would be Braig's new boss told him that he would start the job within a week, at which time he would report to the R&D lab in order to demonstrate his device. He took advantage of this time gap to work on a few bugs in his creation - for example, the fact that it took more than 10 minutes just to upload a single song from a CD to the device, and that was just your average three-minute radio-edit single. Braig, luckily, was able to retool his code in order to compress the digital files of music into a small, easily transferrable format - but not too small. Quality couldn't be sacrificed, not at NemoConTech, which had some of the best quality control in the business.

Finally, the big day arrived, and Braig entered the R&D lab armed with his device, and a CD to demonstrate with. He introduced himself as NemoConTech's newest employee, and introduced his device.

"This," he said, slowly but clearly, "is going to put the CD in the ground. I call it the Digital Music Box. Unlike a typical music box, though, this can be programmed to play as many songs as it can contain within its four-gigabyte memory." He paused to let the researchers - and his boss - murmur amongst themselves in wonder; at this point in time, four gigabytes was truly an unprecedented amount of memory, and they were in awe of the new guy who, after only seven years of education and work in the field, had already been able to push the envelope further than anyone had ever attempted before. "And, it can play the songs in any order. No need to play them in the order in which they were placed on the original CD. If you will allow me to demonstrate..."

Braig turned to the computer screen, removed his CD, and placed it into the optical drive, while also plugging the DMB into a small port - made for what seemed to be a sort of primitive FireWire - and opening up a little square window on the computer. The computer's original media player. Within seconds, a small icon appeared on the screen, marked DIG_MU_BOX_V1.0. Braig clicked and dragged the first song on the CD's tracklist and dragged it over to the little icon, after which a progress bar appeared to show how much of the song had been transferred. It was a very long song - close to seven minutes - and yet, it only took one to complete the transfer, thanks to Braig's altered code. After this, he ejected the DMB, pressed the play button on the front, and immediately, the song he had uploaded began to play to the entire room (unlike most MP3 players from today, Braig had included small speakers, having taken his inspiration more from transistor radios than from the ubiquitous Walkmans of the time.) It was a very recent release - in fact, Braig had just bought the CD yesterday, having heard its first track in a commercial and been struck by the lyrics, which to him sounded like they were telling the story of an apocalypse begun by a very petty and unimportant tiff that turned into a massive, world-igniting conflagration. Add in the fact that it was a flash-new album, and Braig had a great combination attack, using the new song of the present to pave the way for the music player of the future. It was the latest Phil Collins song, "Both Sides of the Story."

Braig turned back to his captive audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, I hope your minds have been blown."

They most certainly were. But they weren't the only things being blown at that moment. At the other end of the small lab, a blond man in a white coat was trying to turn on a computer at the other end of the room, to no avail. He dropped under the desk to try and manipulate the plugs connected into the device, and apparently did something a little too well, as the voltage unexpectedly overloaded so much it blew out the monitor screen, sending shards of electrified glass flying at Braig and his audience. Several of them ended up with shards in the back of their heads, and Braig took the flying glass in the face and neck, severely lacerating him.

Nobody was killed, mercifully enough. The bleeding was not arterial, but the pain was intense enough to make Braig drift in and out of consciousness. The last thing he remembered before passing out completely was seeing a familiar face peering down at his with concern, as the paramedics wheeled him out the front door. _Was that...Ansem?_ Braig wondered. _No...it couldn't have been. I thought...he...was an albino. So...how come...he's so...tan...?_

But right then, all senses faded, all thoughts faded, and Braig's consciousness slipped out of his grasp entirely.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Braig woke up slowly, blearily, in a hospital bed, with two IV drips running into his arms and a dull, slight stinging pain in his face and neck. He raised his hand gingerly and felt the scars that had been left there, possibly from the glass, possibly from the surgery. Braig then looked to his left and saw that he had a visitor - none other than Ansem Nemo himself, and he grinned ear to ear as he and his old friend made eye contact once again.

"Hey, hey, Sleeping Beauty finally back to the land of the living," he said. "Boy, it has been a very long time, hasn't it, Braig?"

Braig nodded and tried to speak up, only for his voice to come out in a croaky whisper. "Ansem? You...you came here?"

Ansem waved his hands at Braig, saying, "Whoa whoa whoa. Try not to talk, man. All that flying glass really did a number on your vocal chords. The doctors said you shouldn't talk for about a week or so."

Braig frowned. "Really?" he whispered.

Ansem laughed. "Yeah, but put it this way. If the whole computer gig fails, at least you'll be able to make it big as a blues singer. Hey, speaking of which, loved that little Digital Music Box of yours. I hear Apple's trying to work on some similar thing, but if we can develop yours ASAP, then we could definitely blow 'em out of the water! Man, I would kill to see the look on Steve Jobs' face."

"You were there?" Braig asked.

"Of course," said Ansem. "Pretty much all I have to do is put on a wig and big spex and a lab coat, and before you can say 'undercover boss,' you got an instant hippie computer technician. Between you and me, I think the people in R&D are face-blind, they can't figure out people's faces so they try to use hairstyle 'n stuff to recognize people. I think Jane Goodall has that same condition. Guess geniuses are more prone to it than others, maybe explains our trouble having a decent social life."

Braig laughed under his breath, before asking, "So...that wasn't you I saw? The tan guy?"

"What tan guy?" asked Ansem. "Not in R&D, no. They hardly ever see the sun, poor guys. I don't either, for obvious reasons."

"He looked just like you," said Braig.

"Well, unless I have a secret non-albino identical twin brother my 'rents never told me about, I don't really think I can help you," said Ansem. "But...while I'm here, I think I should take the time to apologize to you for...you know, driving us apart like that. I'm really sorry I asked you about your orientation so out of the blue. That was way too personal, and I didn't realize you'd been tormented about it for so long. I hope we can be friends again now."

"Definitely," said Braig. "But, if you wanna know, you were kinda...sorta...half-right about me."

"Whaddaya m-" Ansem stopped mid-sentence. "Oh. So you swing both ways, huh? Interesting. You'd think such a person didn't exist, based on what you see and hear on TV and stuff."

"Trust me, they do," said Braig.

"Well," said Ansem, "after you're done letting your battle wounds heal up" - he chuckled a bit at his own joke, as did Braig - "maybe we should do lunch. I know a perfect place up in Blancoville, The Country Way, the 'rents used to take me there all the time when I was a kid. How 'bout, say, a week from Friday, 11:30?"

Braig nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

Ansem smiled. "And don't worry, I've already given that guy two weeks' notice. Nobody causes those kinds of accidents on my watch and keeps their job." He opened the door and left.

A week from Friday, Braig got into his car (a red 1989 Ford Escort coupe with manual transmission, which his parents had bought for him as a college graduation present) and drove up to Blancoville, getting off at the exit Ansem had directed him to. The Country Way turned out to be an old-fashioned A-frame building that, inside, looked like a cross between Denny's and a log cabin. The food was just the same style of cuisine as the former too, but with extreme over-price-age and excessive grease on the main courses. Braig didn't adhere to very many LGBT stereotypes, but some of his habits and/or mannerisms would be looked back on later as foreshadowing the metrosexual movement. These included a liking for good food, and Braig did not consider the food served at The Country Way to be very good (especially not with the horrifically high prices.) However, it was Ansem's idea, and Ansem would be his superior, so he was only too happy to honor his request.

Ansem waved him over to the table that he had already reserved, and a waitress with long blonde hair walked over to their table and took their orders for coffee and soup appetizers. Much to Braig's surprise, the homestyle chicken-noodle soup was much better than it looked (especially given that it was very thick and bright yellow, which made Braig think of the congealed piss found on the floor of men's rooms).

"Wonderful soup, wasn't it?" asked Ansem.

"Why wouldn't it have been?" answered Braig, his voice now permanently low-pitched and gravelly. "Nobody can ruin chicken noodle."

The blonde waitress returned, carrying the men's lunch orders - New York strip steak for Ansem, and Southern-style fried chicken with buttered peas for Braig. _Everything's greasy around here anyway, _he thought. _Might as well go ahead and pack lots of it in._ The waitress said, "I'll be right back to refill your coffee." Before she turned and left, Braig and Ansem both took a look at her nametag, which read "Vexen." _Interesting name_, Braig thought.

After each one took a bite of their lunches and Vexen returned with more coffee, Ansem clapped his hands and said, "Well then, old friend, let's get down to business."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

-September 1994-

Nearly a year after his demonstration at NemoConTech's lab, Braig had a reasonably cushy job as head of R&D, courtesy of his Digital Music Box, which was expected to hit store shelves in six weeks, just in time for the Christmas shopping season. He had politely refused pretty much every job perk Ansem could possibly offer him, if only to alleviate the seemingly inevitable accusations of nepotism (even though Braig and Ansem were not related) and friendship bias. The one job perk he had accepted was a Nemo-issue combination computer/TV, which actually had internet access and even came bundled with a massive remote that included typical computer keyboard keys. This was so Braig could work on a new feature for the in-development DMB 2.0 - portable video recording, which would almost certainly put a stop to the longtime empire that was VCR's and VHS tapes - and also bypass what was considered the logical next step in the advancement of this technology, the CD-like digital disk format (DVD's were still in development by other companies, and the only remotely DVD-like format in existence, the Laserdisc, was disastrously problematic in every which way but loose.) It would certainly befit NemoConTech's motto - "Tomorrow is only a short ways away, why not be proactive and get it today?"

It had taken Braig months to recalibrate his code properly in order to get it to work with the computer/TV. Although both this and the basic computer accepted the same code, the video recording function was something Braig had had to pretty much invent all by himself, because even the original programmers, in their collective wisdom, were no great shakes at fortune tellery, especially in the notoriously fluid world of computing.

Finally, in September, Braig was able to finagle a code that actually worked well enough to download sixty minutes of video onto his prototype DMB 2.0. He decided to put his newfound code and creation to the test with the second-season premiere of _The X Files_. He actually sat on his couch and watched the whole show twice, once on his TV (he never missed a single episode, as it was his favorite show), and once on his DMB after the download had finished, just to make sure that it had recorded properly. He hated that he could not remove the commercials from the recording - pesky and annoying as they were, they were just an immobile fact of life - but he was confident that within a few short years he would be able to overcome this issue. After all, there would be near-regular updates to the DMB's design as Braig continued to fine-tune it.

Braig was at least happy that he had been able to finish his prototype that very day, because he had an appointment with Ansem the very next morning to demonstrate the product. Even though he and Ansem were childhood friends, Braig still went through the formalities of setting appointments to see him, just like all the other higher-end subordinates in the building. He had no need to worry, though - the DMB's new video-recorder had worked magnificently, and it worked just fine in front of Ansem just as it had for Braig.

Ansem was very much wowed; he had not been told the exact purpose of the meeting, just that Braig had made an important breakthrough. "Old friend," he said, "I do believe a promotion is in order."

Braig averted his eyes briefly, shyly. "How about a raise instead?"

Ansem smiled. "I can certainly arrange that."

Within minutes, Braig left the office, smiling widely after having received a fifty-thousand-dollar raise to be added to his next paycheck. Although Ansem had insisted on making it a permanent addition to Braig's pay, Braig turned him down, managing to negotiate this more modest compromise instead. Right as he was leaving, the secretary walked in, carrying a small stack of important-looking envelopes.

Seconds afterwards, just as the elevator was about to arrive for Braig, a loud siren suddenly pierced the air, and metal panels slid over the glass windows and doors at the front of Ansem's office. Braig knew what was happening, after last week's disaster drill had caused an identical occurrence in his own office in the R&D lab.

Biohazard attack.

_Oh my God,_ Braig thought. _Those envelopes - did someone try to poison Ansem?_ He panicked for a few seconds, tried to open the access door to the emergency stairs - but remembered at the last second that in the event of a biological, chemical, or nuclear attack, every door in the building was instantly locked and deadbolted, with electrical charges tearing up the arms of anyone foolish enough to try and open them with their bare hands. Nobody would leave the room they were in, much less the building, until the Hazmat teams came in, canceled the alarm, and evacuated everyone to safe areas.

Hazmat was slow and methodical in their search and sweep of the building. As a result, it took over an hour until they were able to open up the top floor through the emergency stairs, and Braig directed them to the CEO's office, telling them that there were two civilians inside.

Five hours later, Braig sat in a chair on the bottom floor of the hospital, having just been put through an aggressive decontamination procedure (despite his protests that he wasn't infected with anything) and been forced to burn his clothes. _Well, shit, that was my best suit_, he griped internally. _Two hundred bucks well spent. _Mille grazie,_ Giorgio Armani._ Shivering in a paper gown of the kind that was given to patients (and yes, it did in fact have a lace-up, peekaboo behind, so Braig was forced to freeze his ass off - almost literally - on the frigid metal seat of the chair), Braig nevertheless remained surpisingly calm and collected as the SWAT officer told him what had happened. It turned out that someone had sent Ansem an anonymous letter laced with anthrax powder. The letter, which was sealed tight in a plastic bag in the officer's hands, read:

"_How dare you fire me, Ansem Nemo. You are a dirty, disgusting tyrant and your business standards are too damn high. I don't care if your company does put out revolutionary new tech every single fucking day, you still have no right to treat your employees like complete and utter shit for minor accidents. I hope you learn your lesson now, you fascist prick._"

Braig looked up at the officer. "Um, I think I may have an idea who did this."

"Really?" asked the big, burly redhead. "Who? Sounds like a highly disgruntled employee."

"Yeah," said Braig. "The day I was hired, this blond guy - I never learned his name, but he used to be in R&D - he accidentally overloaded a computer monitor's voltage, and it exploded all over the place. That's where I got these scars," he added, pointing to his face.

"Sounds promising," said the officer. "I'll report this in to the detectives upstairs." He turned and left, entering the elevator just as it arrived and regurgitated its sole passenger - a tall, slender blond woman. Even though it had been quite some time since he last saw her, he still recognized her face. She was Vexen, the waitress from The Country Way.

Braig looked up at her. "I remember you - you're the waitress from that restaurant I went to last year."

"I think I remember you too," she said. "Chicken noodle soup, fried chicken with buttered peas, right?"

"Exactly," said Braig.

"You work for Ansem?" asked Vexen.

"Yeah, I do," said Braig. "First-name basis, huh?"

"Ansem's a pretty loyal customer," she answered. "That, and the fact that he's been giving me...uh...programming lessons. So I can go to college and get my bachelor's, you know. What do you do at Nemo?"

"Uh..." Braig paused. "You know the Digital Music Box?" He pulled out his prototype, which he had slipped under his gown to avoid incineration.

"No way!" Vexen giggled like a crazed fangirl. "You invented that? The DMB has completely changed my life! I love how I can carry 500 songs on it and not need a Walkman taking up space on my belt!"

Braig shrugged shyly. "I try."

"So that means you're the famous Braig Bidos, right?" Vexen had recovered from her giggling fit.

"Yeah," Braig said, shaking hands with her. "What's your name? Your full name, not just that one line of text on your nametag."

Vexen subconsciously covered that very same nametag; clearly, she had been in such a rush to see Ansem that she'd not bothered to change out of her waitress uniform first. "Oh, yeah. Sorry. Vexen Icenbice."

"I like that name," said Braig. "It's so...musical. Rolls off the tongue."

Vexen chuckled. "Thanks. Uh, I don't want to offend you or anything, but are you gay?"

Braig shook his head. "Bi, actually. Guess I was kinda cursed to that with a name like mine."

"Tell me about it," said Vexen. "Bi, dos, two-two. So redundant. I was only asking because I remembered you were dressed so nicely that day. Like, overdressed, almost."

"In my defense, I was expecting a more formal business lunch," Braig said. "Then again, Ansem did used to be my friend when we were kids, so I guess I should've seen that coming."

"You used to be friends?" Vexen frowned slightly. "What happened? Did you get in a fight at some point or something?"

"We did," sighed Braig. "It's a long story."

At this point, the nurse came in and said Ansem was accepting visitors, having just been checked out and approved for it. It turned out the anthrax powder was harmless flour, and nobody had been sickened by it at all.

As they approached the bed, Vexen ran forward and planted a huge kiss on Ansem's lips.

Braig frowned. _Teaching her programming, huh? Such a lame lie._ He was starting to feel pangs of jealousy towards his friend and superior. It didn't help that he'd gotten along so well with Vexen just now in the hallway.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

-August 1995-

It was a glorious day for many. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Vexen Icenbice was becoming Vexen Nemo. However, it was not quite a glorious day for Braig. Although he had long since accepted that Ansem and Vexen were together, he nevertheless was dismayed that he hadn't taken the leap and tried to court her first.

There was no denying it, though. Although Ansem was not known for his superfluous spending or conspicuous consumption, he had clearly spared no expense on the wedding, which was being held in the immaculately groomed garden of his vacation house in Sand City. _I'm surprised all this spendy lace trim doesn't catch fire in the sun or something,_ Braig thought. It _did _look very thin and fragile, like a gossamer spider web.

Ansem stood at the head of the makeshift aisle, dressed to the nines in a black tuxedo with a white rose in the lapel. When Braig had been struck by flying glass on his first day at NemoConTech, and he'd seen a tan-skinned version of Ansem looking down on him, it seemed to be a sort of premonition. Today, two years later, Ansem was finely bronzed like he'd spent the day at the beach. (And, in fact, he had, just the day before.) That same day, Braig had asked him about it, and Ansem said he'd signed himself up for an experimental gene therapy being tested out by the geneticists at Stanford. The gene therapy had managed to undo his albinism at the DNA level, and given him a darker shade of skin. Ansem claimed that by removing his condition, he would run considerably less risk of passing on certain disorders, such as xeroderma pigmentosum, to any children he may have. Although the gene therapy had initially given him unsightly splotches of tan on his skin - like reverse vitiligo - the color had eventually spread all over and made itself uniform. "And, even better," said Ansem, "I don't even need contacts anymore." Sure enough, his eyes were now closer to orange or brown than red, and according to Ansem, the increased color pigment allowed him to actually see without any kind of vision correction.

Almost exactly at the stroke of one, Vexen walked up the aisle, resplendent in a pure white dress with little round circle patterns in the lace, which reminded Braig of snowflakes. And so the wedding began in earnest.

Two hours later, Ansem and Vexen sat at the head of the main table in the sizable dining room of the vacation house, with Braig to Ansem's right, and a tall black-haired woman to Vexen's left. As the waiters and caterers walked around serving caviar, alder-wood-fired Alaskan salmon, and imported Turkish sherbet (Braig had insisted on paying for all of this), Ansem turned to Braig and introduced him to Vexen's friend, Linda Lancer, who was single and hoped to meet someone she could marry here at the wedding. "What place is more romantic than a wedding?" she asked. However, Ansem's transparent attempt at playing matchmaker backfired, as Linda and Braig found that they had zero chemistry together. It didn't help that Braig, upon hearing this from Linda, made a crack about them being like gold and platinum (the joke being that those two elements are famously non-reactive.) However, it seemed that Linda was able to find someone to love anyway - a wild-looking, unkempt, unclean, almost berserker of a man with long bluish-silver hair crashed the reception, and it was Linda who offered to escort him out. Braig could see a telltale twinkle in her eye as she approached the man.

"Wow," said Vexen. "What happened to the security?"

"Don't know," said Ansem, strangely short and curt. "Must be the full moon." It actually was a full moon that night, much to everyone's surprise.

-July 23, 1996-

-11:00pm-

Braig entered Ansem's Sand City house, which by now had become his more-or-less permanent place of residence. Five months ago, Vexen had had an unfortunate miscarriage, and she'd been so depressed that she'd stayed in seclusion ever since. Until now. A pregnant teenager had, just the month before, made an arrangement for Ansem and Vexen to adopt the twin boys growing inside her. The birth had taken place just hours ago, at noon, and now both boys were lying in their own cribs in the recently-completed nursery. Braig found this to be a fortuitous coincidence, because had Vexen been able to carry her own pregnancy to term, the baby would have been born this very day, give or take a week or so.

They both lay there, wrapped in blue blankets, their heads poking out. One was dirty-blond (Vexen said this was the older twin), and the other was a redhead. The older twin opened his eyes, which were an unusual green color. Braig smiled. It was just too cute a sight.

"What're you gonna name 'em?" Braig asked.

"The original mother wanted to call them Axel" - Ansem pointed to the redhead - "and Demyx. I can understand Axel, but 'Demyx?'" He pronounced the name slowly, as if it were completely foreign to him. "What sort of nonsense name is that? It must be some kind of New Age guru name. I don't think I'm going to use it. Vexen and I agreed, we're calling this one 'Timothy.'"

Braig did not fail to notice that Ansem was speaking in a very clipped fashion, and it seemed that he was trying to use as many complete sentences as possible. This would have been completely unlike him even as recently as 1994, and yet...Ansem seemed to be changing slowly, for the worse. Braig definitely did not like what he was seeing.

When he got home, before going to bed, he opened up an internet window on his computer and looked up articles on albinism. He remembered that Ansem said albinism caused greater risk for xeroderma pigmentosum, whatever that was. But he wasn't sure if it was real, or if gene therapy was real, and it had been sticking in his mind for a few weeks now.

As it turned out, however, there was no known link between the two diseases.

_So Ansem lied to me_, thought Braig. _But why? He's never lied to me before, or had any reason to. If anything, he's always been brutally honest._ He started pacing the floor with these thoughts running through his head. After a few minutes of fruitless wondering, he realized that it was very cold. He stopped pacing and made to leave his room and grab the space heater from his closet -

- only to walk headlong into a solid brick wall.

Braig swore loudly and stumbled backwards, rubbing the spot on his forehead where he and the wall had collided. Looking around, he saw himself outside. More specifically, he was outside a restaurant on Cannery Row, which had already closed for the night. Looking around in shock, he made his way towards the street, but halfway there, his field of vision was filled with the sight of his own bedroom.

_All right, when did I start teleporting? _Braig wondered. _Wasn't I done with puberty ten years ago?_

_Wait a minute..._he started thinking some more. _I just teleported? I just teleported. I just freaking teleported!_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

-September 25, 2012-

For sixteen years, Braig told nobody about his newfound ability, not Ansem, not Vexen, not even the number of partners (male and female) he had during this time. He merely refined the ability, the way he'd refined the code he'd worked on when he was inventing things in the nineties. Not that he did that anymore. Ansem had long since promoted him to company president, effectively making him his second-in-command. Fifteen years earlier, Braig might have rejected such an offer, but the new Ansem really didn't know how to take no for an answer.

Braig entered his office and opened his e-mail, where he found a troubling anonymous message that had also been sent to three others whose names he recognized from the board of directors: Linda Claymore, Alexis Terra, and Enzo Lessico. The message included an audio file of a phone call between Ansem and someone known only as "Six," complete with a transcript. Ansem asked Six something about the "In-Between," and also if the four families were ready to move in. Six answered each question with a short, sweet "Yes, Superior." But this wasn't the most disturbing thing about the message. It also included a JPEG photo of a smooth metal "preservation pod," which was opened up to reveal a Plexiglas inner pod containing a man suspended in bright green fluid by a number of pipes and tubes.

Braig recognized the man in the pod immediately. It was Ansem, only he was just as pale as he was before the so-called "gene therapy." Immediately, he went up to Ansem's office to confront him about it.

But Ansem merely blinked and said, "I'm afraid I have no idea what this is."

Braig gaped. "Ansem, I don't know what else to say about this. What are you doing? Is this some kind of cloning experiment? Growing transplantable organs in case yours break? Do you know how serious this is? This is highly unethical, and -"

Ansem cut him off with a loud yell. "YOU'RE WRONG!" His amber eyes momentarily darkened to black, but only for a split second.

Braig gaped at his old friend. "What...what are you? You're not Ansem. My friend would never do this. Not to me, not to anyone."

"Well, then, I guess I'm no longer your 'friend,'" jeered Ansem. "Good day, Mr. Bidos."

Braig turned to leave, but then turned back to yell at Ansem one last time. "If you're not willing to deal with this, then I'll have to find someone who will!" He went back down to his office, took his backup laptop, and teleported home.

Early the next morning, Braig teleported back to the office, opened his laptop, and found something truly horrifying on the local news feed. The headline read:

"NEMOCONTECH PRESIDENT ACCUSED OF CHILD MOLESTATION BY GIRLFRIEND"

Braig opened the article, thinking, _What the hell? Did Ansem frame me or something?_ According to the article, his girlfriend claimed that just last night her two-year-old son had come to her saying Braig had forced him to touch him inappropriately. Braig knew nothing of the sort had happened, and yet somehow, somebody claimed to have uncovered video evidence against him.

He teleported down to the parking garage, got into his Lamborghini, gunned the engine, and took off down Highway 17 towards Ansem's house in Sand City (he spent Wednesdays working from home.) By 8:00am he arrived, grabbed the spare key hidden under the false cobblestone on the front walk, and opened the door just in time to see Tim, Axel, and Rocky leaving for school. Vexen appeared to him, waved the boys off, and proceeded to chastise him. "Braig, what do you mean by this, coming down here unannounced and dripping sweat all over the floor? I just cleaned it yesterday, for God's sakes!"

Braig matched Vexen's glare and rumbled, "I have to see your husband. He has soooo much explaining to do."

He barged straight into Ansem's office, turned the TV on to channel eight, and let the reporters talk for a few seconds about the still-breaking news about the search for Braig Bidos before launching into his attack. "Well? Is this your idea of getting me back?"

Ansem turned to Braig. "No. I'm not the one responsible for this. I'm sure you're innocent. This seems totally unlike you. But then, maybe you've changed, just like you said I have. You'll forgive me for not being very quick to jump to your defense."

Braig spluttered, "Jump to my defense?! What the hell do you want with me?"

Ansem said, "To do as I say, so you won't get arrested. Trust me on this. Drive me up to the office. I'll explain things on the way."

True to his word, Ansem did explain things. About the "In-Between," and the preservation pod, and also about Braig's teleportation. "I had the sherbet at the wedding laced with a chemical that activates certain genes in...sensitive individuals. That was the gene that got activated in you. The three others who received your e-mail, plus Vexen, all have active genes of their own."

"The three others -" Braig was shocked. "Linda, Alexis, Enzo...what?"

"Yes," said Ansem, as the Lamborghini turned into the parking garage. "But, one of you is a traitor. That e-mail was sent by an untraceable outsider whom I suspect of trying to put a stop to my project before it begins. They wanted one of you to blow the whistle. Luckily, nobody did. Yet. I have some doubts about Alexis and Enzo, but you and Linda I can trust implicitly." He got out of the car and turned to Braig, handing him a slip of paper with a Blancoville address written on it. "The In-Between is in an underground lab here. Teleport there, and wait for me and the others to arrive. We're all moving up there within the week. Stay underground. It would really throw the plans off if you were caught and sent to jail, no?"

Braig sighed. "Okay." He walked into the elevator, then teleported to the place Ansem had told him. It was, as he had said, a cavernous underground lab, well-lit with white walls, computers on desks, and the preservation pod in the very center of the room.

He leaned against the wall, overwhelmed by the events of the last 24 hours, especially what Ansem had told him about the lab. _What have I done?_ he thought. _God help me._

_God help us all._


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

-October 12, 2012-

Braig sat at one of the desks in the underground lab. As usual, he felt extremely apprehensive, knowing the In-Between lay directly under his feet. He opened up a window to show the view from one of the many tiny hidden cameras scattered throughout the townhouses upstairs. The particular view he was looking at was an overhead shot of Tim and Axel's room. The two boys were talking about something clearly very important; they were trying hard not to raise their voices, resulting in the both of them speaking in gruff whispers. He put on his earphones, plugged them into the jack on the side of the laptop, and listened in.

Tim: "Dude, are you serious about this?"

Axel: "Of course I am. You don't wanna tell anyone about this. We all know what happens to freaks like us."

Tim: "Freaks?"

Axel: "Yeah. I know you love watching movies. Isn't that what always happens in the movies? The freaks get institutionalized by the NSA or CIA or FBI or whatever?"

Tim: "Nothing like this exists in real life. You never know. Maybe just the opposite will happen."

Axel: "No. No, no, no. The movies have to get something right, don't they? Don't they say there's some reality in all fiction or something like that?"

Tim: (sigh)

Axel: "Just get this straight. I don't wanna end up in the loony bin for being able to burn things like that. (he gestured to the burned part of the wall) If I do, especially if it's your fault (he grabbed Tim roughly by the lapels) _I will end you_. Got it memorized, bub?"

Tim: "Okay, okay!" (nods)

Braig closed the window, and opened another showing a completely different perspective. This one was in the fourth townhouse, the one where the Claymores lived. In the kitchen, Xion had hooked up a little mini-windmill of sorts to a TV, and her mother was activating a fan to create some wind to power the device.

But Braig knew better. Linda was using the powers she'd received from drinking that tainted Turkish sherbet at Ansem and Vexen's wedding so many years ago. _A little second wind to help her daughter's science project around_, Braig thought, in a rare moment of sarcasm. _Just like all other parents do for their kids sometime or other_. He closed the window, shut down the computer, and walked into the break room area, where he turned out the lights, lay on the couch, and spent all night struggling to fall asleep.

-END OF EPISODE 2-


End file.
